


An t-Each Uisge

by Nia (Lingwiloke)



Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Gift Fic, Mind Control, OOC probably because I know next to nothing about Supernatural, man-eating waterhorse, nothing happens on screen though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2592614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lingwiloke/pseuds/Nia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean lands himself in a sticky situation. But it's alright, he's got this - or has he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	An t-Each Uisge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tacopony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tacopony/gifts).



> Apologies for OOC-ness, because I know next to nothing about Supernatural, really. Also, no, I have know idea what happened before the start of this. Go ask Dean. maybe he'll tell you.
> 
> Happy Birthday, Tacopony - hope you like it! :)

_Sam, if I ever get out of here alive, I am going to_ kill _you for this._

Dean grits his teeth, hardly daring to breathe as he runs careful fingers through coarse, black strands, dripping with water that trickles down his wrists and drips onto his jeans. The eyes of the... _fae-man_ in front of him are half-lidded, his head tilted backwards into Dean’s hands, the look on his face reminding him of the blissful expression of a cat presented with catnip. A cat that could gut him in an instant and liked nothing better than a tasty little human... _Scratch that, make that a panther._

His fingers inadvertently catch a strand of rubbery waterweed, and the creature makes a noise somewhere between a purr and a growl. Dean freezes instantly, heart jumping into his throat – but it just presses its head back into his hands more insistently, leaning into him. He swallows and hastily resumes his ministrations. The body leaning against his relaxes in increments, and the creature’s breathing evens out and slows. _Yes, good sleepy little beast, come on, fall asleep..._

Finally, finally the creature’s eyes slip closed, that last sliver of green momentarily eclipsed. Holding his breath, Dean slowly, slowly lowers his right hand. His fingers catch in the damp locks, as if they are trying to ensnare him of their own volition. But carefully, agonizingly slowly, he manages to untangle one hand from the fae’s hair, the other still gently caressing. Now just –

He suppresses a gasp, as claws dig into his thigh, just above the iron knife strapped there that he was reaching for.

_“Stay.”_

One word from that voice, and he is frozen in place. Paralysed, he watches as the creature turns to him in a fluid, graceful motion, suddenly not at all sleepy anymore. Instead, there is a contained strength evident in the fae’s movements, and emanating from him a sense of frightening power tightly leashed – yet. Green eyes glinting under heavy lids watch him, a feral hunger in them that makes his stomach drop. He can feel sweat beading on his brow as he wills his treacherous body to move - to no avail.

Dean can only stare, transfixed, as a lazy grin splits the fae’s face, exposing rows of sharpened teeth. _“I’m afraid that trick never actually worked on me, little thing.”_ The silky voice is deceptively soft, steel cloaked in velvet.

A slender hand comes up and strokes his cheek in a mockery of comfort, fingers following his jaw line down to his throat, where they pause, claw tips digging in, just shy of breaking skin. He can feel the blood pulse in his temples, feeling like his head is splitting with the urge to jerk away, defend himself, anything – all he manages is a pitiful twitch, and the fae laughs, delightedly. Then he is pulled forward by his throat, and a cool breath touches his ear, a hint of razor-sharp teeth at his neck, and a whisper:

_“Let it be known,_ hunter, _that the Each Uisge is no-one’s _prey._ ”_

**Author's Note:**

> In some folklore about the Each Uisge, he asks his victim to comb/untangle his hair, then falls asleep in their lap in the process and the victim can escape. That made me want to write Dean petting Augus' hair, so I did - Sorry, not sorry, folks.


End file.
